


thank u, next

by Fizz (marvels_ninja)



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Modern AU, Mush is a med student, Paranormal AU, Race is a realtor and Al just wants an apartment, things get bonkers real quick
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-20
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-20 16:53:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18529201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marvels_ninja/pseuds/Fizz
Summary: albert is looking for an apartment, and race is just the realtor to sell it to him. but when the two of them start to hit it off, it’s clear something just...isn’t right. actually, it’s very, very wrong. wouldn’t be a supernatural story without secrets, confessions, and a dark cloud overhead, would it.also known as: my main fic series on tumblr finally comes to ao3—the six-part series of the Paranormal Ralbert AU!





	1. One

Okay, so Albert had only turned 21 yesterday. That didn't mean he had to wait to buy his own apartment. From a young age, it had been his dream to own his personal place, to call things his. His initial dream had just been to get out of his childhood home as soon as possible, but since then it had expanded. 

He'd had a job with a good-paying contractor since he was only 19, being a physics major minoring in design with more than just a hobby of construction. He loved building and fixing things as long as he could remember, and buying his own place would let him renovate practically anything he wanted in there. 

Albert had been looking at places for an entire week in between classes. Most were way too expensive, or really gross, or just too far, and Al was giving up hope. His dream wouldn't come true until the magic of it was gone. 

But finally, at approximately two in the morning with an eight o’ clock class in a few hours, he found something on his phone. Based on the pictures, the place seemed rather small, but surprisingly homey for an apartment.

So the next day, exactly twelve hours later, he was outside the door of it. The building itself had an older vibe, like it was supposed to be a condominium but wasn't. The stairs were creaky and wood, unlike modern apartments in the city. Again—surprisingly homey for ever-changing New York City.

But as he opened the door, it swung open silently, Albert glancing warily around before stepping inside. 

“Oop! Give me one second!” a voice rang out from another room. It sounded light, almost like a tinkly bell. 

“You're good,” Albert called back, wandering around the space. It was clean, which was slightly unexpected, and all the spaces looked open enough and quite ready to move into. How had this place not sold? 

“So sorry about the wait. Hi.” 

And then Albert turned to see the most beautiful man he had ever laid eyes on.

Albert had the unfortunate habit of thinking most people he came across were relatively good-looking, if not attractive. But never before had his heart felt like it was _flinging_ _itself_ _off_ _of_ _a_ _cliff_ into the deepest depths of the ocean.

The man—the realtor, Albert presumed—couldn't be older than himself, with fluffy blond curls that framed his face, which was slightly flushed. He was quite skinny, in a slim and fit sort of way, and slightly taller than Albert. And stunning, of course.

Albert smiled, stepping closer to shake the guy’s hand, when the man looked straight into Albert’s eyes. 

Al had already established the guy was hot, sure, but he didn't think he was paralyzingly so. Until he was. 

The guy’s gaze reminded him of how ice looked when the sun hit it just right—a brilliant shade of blue that Albert effortlessly lost himself in, sinking into it like quicksand, and he found himself completely unable to look away. 

Not “unable to look away” in a cheesy way either. Albert willed himself to break the eye contact, but he couldn't. The man’s eyes were simply  hypnotic , Albert feeling trapped in a trance as he pumped their hands for a shake. 

“Alright! I’m Antonio Higgins and I'm the realtor. And who might you be?”

As soon as Antonio spoke, Albert’s helpless feeling vanished and the spell broke. The guy was still unfathomably hot to him— _dammit_ —but at least Al could make himself look away now.

“I'm DaS- er, I’m Albert DaSilva, nice to meet you,” Al replied a little uneasily, still embarrassed for staring but unwilling to bring it up. “I'm hoping to eventually buy, so wanna show me around?”

“Of course, yeah,” Antonio smiled, motioning for Al to follow him. “It's a really sweet place. Well, unless you plan on having a roommate. You with anyone?”

Albert bit his lip. _Well_ _that_ _was_ _a_ _double_ - _sided_ _question_. “Nah, just me. I don't wanna stay in my dorm my whole college experience, y’know?” Luckily he had mastered the art of deflection.

“That's what I did!” Antonio turned around to beam at Albert before turning back around. “Too many people with dorms, not your own shower, not enough responsibility…”

Albert nodded along as Antonio continued on, talking a little about each room and about himself. Turned out that he was studying communications and a few languages to go along with it. He only got his realty license a few months ago. 

“So they stuck me with the place that no one’s been able to sell,” Antonio laughed. “I'm lucky you walked in here.”

“It's a nice place,” Albert shrugged with a smile. “Some things need fixing up, but that ain't much of a big deal.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, no, I’m a construction guy. I like this kinda stuff.” Albert smile grew as Antonio gasped.

“That's amazing! God, I always wanted to learn about that stuff. It'd be so cool to learn about that—oh my god,” he said, suddenly cutting himself off. “You _know_...I could probably get the building’s owner to hire you to fix up some rooms, if your interested?”

It was Albert’s turn to beam. “You'd do that?”

“Sure,” Antonio said, and Albert felt his heart soften as the man’s expression did as well. “Maybe...I could shadow you as you worked? If you don't mind, of course,” he added. 

“That'd be great,” Albert found himself saying. “It'd, uh… It’d be nice to have company.”

Antonio gave him a warm smile. “I'll see what I can do!” He pulled out his phone, and Albert’s pulled out his own to exchange numbers. 

As Antonio rattled off his number, he stopped Al from typing in his name. “You can put me down as Race. It's what my friends call me.” Albert glanced up to see a shy smile on Race’s face and allowed himself a small smirk.

“Race, huh? That's interesting. You can just call me Al, since we’re on a nickname basis apparently.” He grinned as Race blushed, but his expression immediately dropped as he looked at the time.

“Oh, shit. Race, I got a class in twenty. Text me if you hear anything, will ya?” Al asked, heading for the door.

“Course! I'll let you know if we got ourselves a date.” 

Albert laughed, a blush finding its way onto his face as well. “I, uh. I hope we do.” And he closed the door behind him. After a moment, he allowed himself a small fist pump as he left the building. “Fuck yeah, man,” he whispered to himself, grinning. He never got three wins in a row like that, one after the other—not only was the apartment cute, so was the realtor, which whom he had a shot at going out with, and he had a job opportunity on his own without someone telling him exactly what to do. And he earned this. After a life of so much bad luck, eventually something had to be thrown his way. 

But then his train came in late and he was twenty minutes late to class, so maybe things weren't all coming up Albie.

•••

Race leaned against the door after Albert had closed it, breathing out a sigh of relief. He almost laughed at his good luck—he was so close to running out of time, and then someone goes stumbling right into his hands. To top it off, he was more than easy on the eyes too. Looks like this round wouldn't be as bad as the last one—that girl had he one ugly motherfucker.

And he could already tell he owned this guy. The way he had stared at him—and how long, longer than the last few, Race could tell. Albert was hooked, but he’d be sunk soon enough. All Race had to do was call up the realtor, kiss Albert, and then sweet-talk him into buying the place. Simple. Then Race would get his time back, and after a long enough while the whole thing would start over again. A smug look found its way to Race’s face at his good fortune. He grabbed his jacket and headed out the door—a win like this deserved the most extravagant coffee order fathomable.


	2. Two

The landlord had been easy enough to talk into letting Al work on the place. The guy was  _ such _ a pushover—if Race asked, he’d probably let him buy the whole building from him, Race was sure.

What he wasn’t sure about was what to wear to a construction date. Or if Al even considered this a date. From that awed, lovestruck look—Race didn’t think he would ever get tired of people looking at him that way—that was plastered on Al’s face the other day, he probably wanted it to be one. So Race threw on some dark jeans and a blue t-shirt and called it appropriate.

He had guessed right. When Race opened the apartment door, Al was standing outside with a black pullover and blue jeans. Ah, thank the fashion gods.

“Hey,” Race greeted with a smile.

“Hey…” Albert replied. Race fixed him with another one of his gazes for the hell of it, amusement clear on his face as he watched Al’s expression go from clear and bright-eyed to a dazed, melty smile in less than a second. Sheesh. This guy had it worse than the others. At least he made it look cute.

_ No, Race. Fuck that. Don’t think that way. _

Race snapped his fingers behind his back, effectively startling Albert out of it. He grabbed Al’s hand. “Don’t just stand there!” he said, dragging Al inside. “You got work to do and things to teach.”

“Okay, okay, chill,” Albert laughed, setting down his bag. Race watched his eyes scan the main room, searching for things Race couldn’t see. “Well, the first thing we’re doing is tearing down this fuckin’  _ ugly _ wallpaper in the bathroom, oh my fuckin’  _ God _ .”

Racetrack followed Al into the bathroom, eyes trailing over the blue wallpaper he had come to accept. “Is it that bad?” he asked tentatively.

“You got used to  _ this _ ?” Albert laughed. “They musta had you on this place for a while if you can get used to this.”

Race said nothing on the matter as Albert glanced around the bathroom a little more. Then Al gestured to the toilet. “Stand on top of the lid,” he ordered.

Race gave him a look before complying. “You could ask nicer,” he muttered.

“Do teachers ask nice?” Albert asked, giving a look right back. 

Maybe Al wasn’t as goopy as he came off.

“You’re gonna peel this wallpaper right off,” Al instructed. “You can grab the corner from where you’re standing now—you could do it standing on the ground, but it’s easier this way.” Race gave Albert a nod, seeing the tiny corner of it on delicately placing his fingers on it.

“Do I just—pull?” Race asked, glancing down and biting his lip.

“You wanna make sure it rips in one big piece, so do it carefully—also, rip down, not to the side, got me?”

“Got you,” Race smiled, slowly pulling on the paper. He was surprised how easily it came off for the most part. Just went to show how fucking ancient the apartment was.

“See?” Al beamed, making Race’s smile widen. “Beautifully clean rip, man.” Then Al reached up on his toes, grabbing a different corner and tearing a little more recklessly but still just as clean as Race’s wall.

Race narrowed his eyes. “Show off,” he scoffed, hopping off the toilet seat.

Albert hooked his thumbs in his tool belt with a grin. “Sure am.” Race couldn't hide his smile at that, which made Al laugh. Race decided he liked that sound a lot, against his better judgement. 

Race sat himself on the sink, watching Albert lean above him to rip down the third side. Lucky for Race, Al’s sweatshirt rode up at the most perfect moment. He'd made Albert do enough staring—it was his turn.

“See anything y’like?” 

Race nearly fell of the sink at Albert’s comment. “Maybe I do, dipshit,” Race snapped. “Stop actin’ cocky about it.”

Albert scoffed, but when he looked down at Race, he was smiling. “Sounds like you're used to being the cocky one, huh,” Al smirked.

Shit. Race hadn't blushed this much in years.

“In fact, I very much am, sweetheart,” he said, pushing himself off the sink and purposely bumping himself into Albert’s side.

Race laughed as Al ripped rather jerkily this time, splitting the paper and ruining his chance at a clean removal. Al whipped his head around and glared at Race with a flushed face. “Fuck you,” he growled, but managed to rip the rest off relatively well. Race leaned against one of the now bare walls, surveying the bathroom walls as if deciding whether they would live or die. He didn't fail to notice Albert’s exasperated expression.

“It looks lonely and sad,” Race concluded. “Why’d we take it off again?”

Albert let out the longest and most pissed-off sigh Race had ever heard, and for the first time in a while, Race second-guessed himself. What if he couldn't do it like he used to? Could his charm have worn off? It didn't seem like Al was having any of his nonsense, which most people found endearing.  _ Interesting _ . Race crossed his arms as Al spoke.

“You are kind of infuriating, y’know that?” Albert laughed in what seemed like disbelief. “A realtor that doesn't know shit about walls. How are you even in this business?” 

Albert’s question seemed genuine enough, but it threw Race off. He pushed himself off the wall, leaning over Albert with the two inches he had on him. This was getting out of hand. People didn't talk back to  _ Race _ . That wasn't something that happened. 

“I’ll have you know,” Race glared this time, “that I passed my license test with flying colors.”

“Oh, no, I betcha did,” Albert shrugged. “But there’s more to houses then sellin’ ‘em, and one of those things is knowing that when you take down wallpaper, you paint the damn walls.” Then Albert looked at Race’s expression and flinched. “Sorry. That’s why you’re shadowin’ me anyway—to learn about this stuff. Can’t assume what I know is what you know.”

Race eased off as Albert did, feeling shame pool in his stomach. He shouldn’t fuck around with this guy just because he was a little different than the others. Man, he was so off his rhythm.

“No, I’m sorry, I’m being ridiculous. That’s pretty obvious, painting walls. I’m being petty,” Race muttered, averting his gaze but offering a small smile. “Wanna go buy some paint for ‘em?”

Albert gave him a smile too, and Race felt relief flow through him, no matter how much he resented it. “Yeah, sure. Why not. Lemme jus’ plaster these holes so they’ll be dry when we get back. Watch,” Al said, rummaging through his bag a moment before he pulled a small tub of plaster and a small, flat tool.

“This is called a hawk,” Al said, waving the flat thing around while going back into the bathroom with Race at his heels. “They’re normally a lot bigger, but we’re not plastering a whole wall. Just filling in some little holes.”

Then Albert pulled out a-

“What the  _ fuck _ do you need a spoon for, Al?” Race asked, bewildered. 

Albert gave Race a funny look for a moment, which Race returned. Understanding dawned on Albert’s face.

“Ah, right. This is weird to you.” Al popped open the top of the tub and dug the spoon in. He then scraped the plaster out of the spoon and onto the hawk. “Nah, I’m just cheap. I didn’t want to buy, like, a real thing, so I just use a spoon. Same effect,” he grinned. Race only sent him a confused smile.

“Okay, fine, it’s weird,” Al rolled his eyes. “Just watch this.”

Race leaned over Albert’s shoulder as Al crouched at a lower hole, hawk in hand, and delicately smoothed over the hole a few times. Race watched in awe as the hole disappeared and turned into the rest of the wall.

“Wow,” Race said. “It’s gone.”

Albert stood back up, Race realizing how close he was and stumbling back a bit. “Yep,” Al nodded, a smile tugging at his lips, “gone. Now, we got a few more—wanna try it?”

Race vigorously nodded and took the hawk from Al’s hands. He put a modest amount of plaster on the hawk and hesitated over a hole.

“You’re fine,” Al murmured, Race only now realizing he was right behind him, a blush creeping onto his face. “Go easy on it.”

Race nodded slowly, and carefully let the hawk glide against the hole and over it, then back again. 

“Gone,” Al said after a minute.

“Gone,” Race echoed, staring at the hawk in his hands and then allowing himself to look at Albert, slightly angry with himself.

What wasn’t gone were these...these actual  _ feelings _ Race felt like he was starting to maybe harbor for Al. The types of feelings that made one’s chest feel light, or one’s face warm. Feelings that Race hadn’t felt in years, for anyone.

Feelings Race couldn’t feel. He couldn’t do that to himself.

He had to stick to what he’d always stuck to. No exceptions.

“Al,” Race said quietly once they had finished all the holes—and to Race’s dismay, laughing and joking through the process—and were about to leave for the paint. “What do you think this is?”

Albert cocked his head slightly from where he was couched near his bag, raising an eyebrow. “What’s that mean?”

“I mean…between us. Do you think there’s..something, at least?”

Albert stood abruptly. “Well—oh, um. I—I mean, like...well. Sure,” he stuttered, clearly thrown. Race couldn’t help smiling a little.

“You think there’s a genuine, real feeling? A real one?” Race asked tentatively.

“Race, sure, but it’s kind of earl—“

Race shook his head, poking Albert’s chest. “No, really. Search for it. A real thing. Not some…artificial infatuation,” he muttered.

Albert bit his lip, but did pause a moment. Race had to admire his thoughtfulness, despite Race’s vagueness.

After a few seconds, Al looked up to Race’s eyes. “I’d be kiddin’ myself if I said there wasn’t a real, potential… _ something _ , yeah,” Albert smiled.

Race wished Al’s answer had been no. That would have made what came next so much easier. But he had a mission, and he hadn’t failed it to date. He wasn’t about to, just for a guy who finally maybe meant something to him.

“Then…I’m really, really sorry for this,” Race whispered to himself, but gave Albert a smile as he kissed him with a passion he wished he didn’t feel.

•••

His first day on the job had been weird so far. Race was quite different than he was the day before, showing practically every side to himself, whether it be an annoying one or a soft one. Albert did genuinely enjoy the company more than he let on. Race’s pouting and eagerness and lack of knowledge was...well, shit, it was cute. And so was Race. God. Every small smile, every quirk of body language, and every blush was incredibly beautiful, more than Al was willing to admit. 

But as they were about to leave, Race asked  _ that _ . Looking just…so sad. Like his heart was breaking on the spot. Al hadn’t done anything rude enough to really hurt Race, he knew, since Race’s hard exterior seemed to match his own. But he suddenly seemed scared, almost, Al getting an anxious vibe from his questions. He didn’t want to spook Race any further, so he answered as honestly as he could. Of course there was something. There always was with Albert. It felt like he was always falling for someone, and he was tired of it. At least Race was three-dimensional—he didn’t seem like some usual fling of feeling. Race was drop-dead gorgeous, yes, but he was more than just that. He was interesting, and he kept up with him, in humor and comments and hints at feelings. 

But when Al gave him his honest answer—that what he was feeling was more than simple infatuation—Race looked even more devastated, even with the smile he was wearing to try and hide it with. 

And Albert felt sick embarrassment gathering in his stomach for what felt like the millionth time. Another guy didn’t feel the same way he did. Race looked sad because he pitied Al, because Race didn’t like him that way, Race didn’t want him.

So when Race pulled him closer, one hand cradling Albert’s chin and another on his shoulder, and kissed him, it wasn’t exactly expected.

Shock ricocheted through his body, electrocuting his doubt and regret into dust. Any previous negative thoughts simply melted from his mind, his brain going fuzzy as it only thought of Race—his lips, his hypnotic gaze, his pretty laugh, his hands on him, how warm he was, Race, Race, Race,  _ Race _ … 

Albert finally kissed back with a desperation he didn’t feel like was completely his own, picking his way out of the incoherent initial wave of pleasure. He pulled Race’s hips toward his, speeding up the pace of the kiss before Race could, already wanting more of him. Race was all that mattered. He was all Albert wanted.

Several minutes passed before Race moved his lips to Albert’s neck,  nipping hard at a specific spot and making Al moan, the cloud of pleasure fogging up his brain again. He never wanted the feeling to end.

“Race,” he breathed once Race had trailed kisses low enough, “let’s go to your apartment.”

“What, you gonna fix up what you don’t like there, too?” Race giggled against Albert’s skin, making him shudder. Al leaned up slightly to Race’s ear.

“I’ll need to fix your  _ bed _ once we’re done with it,” he whispered, nipping Race’s ear. Al heard Race’s breath hitch, smirking at the sound.

“Let’s go to my apartment,” Race nodded, kissing Albert one more time before dragging him out the door, barely giving Al a moment to pick up his bag.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gettin to the real shit lads ;)


	3. Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this one is a little crazy, so just stay with me fellas ;)

Race woke up happy, which was bad.

That hadn’t happened in a century.

He was also tangled in someone’s warm arms and laying against someone’s tanned chest, which happened a lot, but the fact that Race regretted it in a different kind of way than normal was definitely a strange feeling. And bad, of course.

“Mornin’,” said the someone, morning voice gravelly.

Race shifted slightly, looking at Al’s face.

This poor, poor boy. 

The first thing Race noticed were his eyes—unfocused and cloudy with something, but content. His cheeks were a bit more flushed than normal, too. Al looked dazed so say the least, but he was smiling through it.

Guilt crashed down onto Race and he curled back into Albert’s chest, unable to meet his eyes. Al didn't deserve this. He wished he hadn’t gotten involved, wish he never stepped through that door. 

But now here Al was anyway, much to Race’s dismay. Practically the first person he truly felt bad for, despite the hundreds before him.

Over his years, Race had learned that most people weren’t…good. Most people had an edge to them, or such a lack thereof that they turned uninteresting, and nearly everyone he had come across were never a good balance of the two. And then Al happened. Race just didn’t understand. His streak had suddenly broke like  _ that _ , his heart was suddenly beating like  _ that _ , he suddenly wanted to touch someone like  _ that _ . 

He suddenly wanted to tell someone some semblance of the truth like  _ that _ .

“Hey, Albie, I...should tell you something—important—about me,” Race said quietly into Al’s chest, tracing down his side to distract his racing mind.

“Does this important something require pants?” Al sighed, starting to untangle himself from Race, who couldn’t help huffing out a slight giggle.

“No, I guess not, but get ‘em anyway,” Race shrugged, lugging himself out of the bed to put his own back on too, then flopping back down onto it face-first.

He couldn’t just...tell Albert, right? Not everything at least. There would probably be some consequence for that.

He mumbled into the mattress instead, opting to stall, before Al moved Race into his lap.

“What’s wrong, Race? Actually,” Albert added, his expression much clearer than it was before. His brown eyes were focused and worried instead of hazy and dreamy. They flitted around Race’s face, almost protectively, and Race could tell that it was instinct and not just Race’s...effect. That made him a little more comfortable.

“It’s just really,  _ really _ weird, okay? Like nothing you’ve heard before,” Race mumbled.

“Then out with it,” Al urged. “It’s easier to just get it out of you than to just sit with it, I swear. I won’t judge you or nothin’.”

“But you will. You’ll kinda have to.”

“But I won’t.”

“Well, you will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yes I do!” Race burst, “because—because I’m not…” He took a deep breath.

“I’m not like you, on a metaphysical level. Meaning, like, um…”

Al’s expression had turned slightly confused and only more worried. Race let out a short sigh.

“I’m not technically a person. A human. Anymore. Ya know?”

Race shrunk down at his own confession, not meeting Al’s intensely narrowed gaze. He was putting pieces together, Race could tell.

“So, what, you’re like a ghost or somethin’?” Al said after a minute. Then he gasped lightly. “Race, I better not’ve committed necrophilia, oh my god, Race, this might be bad, like  _ really _ bad, god...” Al’s voice grew frantic, pulling himself away from Race.

“Al, hey, wait…” Race tried, but Al had drawn back, muttering ‘I just fucked a ghost’ over a few times. Race rolled his eyes and grabbed onto Albert’s hands, locking eyes with him.

“You didn’t just fuck a ghost, okay?” Race said, saying his words slowly.

“I didn’t?” Albert’s eyes were wide, and a little scared. Race winced.

“No, you didn’t. I’m not dead—uh, anymore. Just, um, lemme explain.”

After a beat, Albert nodded slightly, looking at Race expectantly.

Oh, shit. Obviously he had to follow through. Race let himself think a moment before speaking again.

“So, um, all the way back in 1890, my mom brought me and my siblings here from Italy. That apartment—when it was a tenement, I mean—was where we lived for a while. But it was really shitty, and gross, you know. Our landlord didn’t give a shit, just like everyone else. The city was really disgusting then—and now, but then was... _ real _ bad, Al. And so I got sick. And died.”

Race watched Al rest his chin in his hand, contemplating the first part of Race’s history. Race couldn’t read his expression, which was new.

“No, keep going,” Al murmured with a nod. “Can’t just stop there, right?”

He still looked quite focused, making Race gulp. “Right.

“So I died in, uh, that apartment. But my mom was...kind of a witch by today’s definition. And she put this spell on my, like, body, is what I gather from this. So when she died, I would be revived, and generally haunt this area. Specifically the apartment.”

Albert nodded, not speaking for a few moments. He was taking this surprisingly well for just some guy, Race thought.

“But we’re at your apartment. You own your own apartment…” Albert trailed off for a second. “Are you not...tied—like, tethered—to the other apartment?”

Race shrugged. “Haven’t really thought of it that way. Uh, I guess...only...kind of. I kind of still don’t know what the hell I am, since this was all done to me when I was...dead,” Race said quietly.

“Right, yeah. Sorry,” Al added. “This just ain’t usual ghost stuff as far as I know. So we can rule that out.”

“Yeah, we can rule that out,” Race laughed softly.

“One thing doesn’t make sense—or, well. Makes less sense than the rest of this,” Al said, unsure of his words and unknowing of Race’s heart slamming inside his chest. “Why would your mom do that? Why not just bring you back to life so you could be with your family, if she had the ability to revive you in the first place?” Albert’s nose was slightly scrunched in thought, his gaze lowered. Although Race found it incredible how much Albert was simply following along with the father wild story, Race could tell he was actually contemplating it; maybe too much contemplating. 

Race bit his lip. He knew why his mother had done this to him, but there wasn’t any way in hell he was saying that.

_ Quick, Race, c’mon. _

“Maybe I’m here to make sure...” Race briefly lost his thought before grabbing hold of the lie again. “To make sure that anyone who buys that place doesn’t end up like me? Like, dead?”

Al’s eyebrow raised at Race’s inflection. “Ain’t you sure?” he asked Race. 

Al looked skeptical for some reason, making Race irritatingly nervous. He still wasn’t used to feeling outdone, not used to others feeling unconvinced by him; even if Al normally was impressed, he did have moments when he doubted too much for Race’s liking.

“Yeah, that’s it,” Race nodded, Albert’s expression still remaining.

“You realize that implies that anyone who buys that apartment would die, right? Without you?”

“Yeah, yeah, the place was probably cursed before me and my family moved into it,” Race tried to clarify. “I’m like a blockade. Against it.”

But Al’s expression only furrowed further. “Well, that’s kinda far-fetched, which is saying something,” Al laughed slightly. “Like, okay, whatever, you’re a mix between zombie and reincarnation, sure—long as I didn’t commit necrophilia. But the weirdest thing to me is that your mom wouldn’t just bring you back to life in your time, and instead make you stay behind for...who knows how long. You’re her  _ family _ , I just…why would she leave you...” Albert was thinking out loud, since he flinched at his words and muttered an apology.

Race scoffed, heart hammering. “Thought you said you were a physics major, not an investigative journalist.”

“It just so happens,” Albert said, raising his eyebrow again, “that I took a course in legal studies cause my friend dared me, and paranormal stuff is kind of, like, my shit.”

“Really,” Race said, pulling at his hands nervously.

“Yeah. Really. I don't wanna push anything, but I can tell there's something you ain't telling me,” Al said quietly, his serious expression unwavering.

Race’s eyes narrowed, pulled back into business mode. He shouldn’t have told Al anything—he was alarmingly smart, and Race felt stupid for doubting him. He had to control this.

Race crawled forward, Albert glancing up and down at him but without a word. Race sat himself right in front of Al, then placed his index and middle fingers on Albert’s temple, his ring and pinky fingers on the corner of his jaw, and rested his thumb in the middle of Al’s forehead, lips pressed together tightly. This was just business. Always business.

“Race, what are you…” Al said, trailing off and gazing at the position of Race’s hand.

Race leaned towards Albert’s ear. “ _ You will believe my words and only ever think of me, my love _ ,” he whispered faintly, kissing beneath it gently before pulling away, feeling like his insides were eating away at themselves.

Race had always hated this part before, but it was even worse with Albert.

Al’s face had slackened, his expression an empty page on which Race had just written instructions. His eyes were glazed over, and he stared straight ahead at nothing. Race knew that the only thought running through Albert’s head was Race’s command, his sweet-toned, easy voice. 

“I will believe your words,” Albert murmured, his voice like a recording, head swaying slightly, “and only ever think of you, my love.”

“ _ Thank you, my heart _ ,” Race choked out before removing his hand and throwing his arms around Al, crying into his shoulder. “I’m so, so sorry.”

He cried for a small while, only quieting himself when he felt Al’s arms wrap around him.

“It’s okay, Race, oh,” Albert mumbled, “I just spaced for a sec, I’m sorry. You’re okay, it’s okay.” He kissed Race’s hair, rubbing his hand up and down his back.

“I just dumped all that onto you, I don’t know why, it-it just made me feel worse..” Race breathed, closing his eyes and putting his head into the crook of Al’s neck. “I’m so sorry, you don’t even know…”

Albert shook his head gently, placing a kiss on the back of Race’s neck. “I could never be mad at you, you know that?” Al said softly, only causing Race’s heart to break even further. “You had to let that out. It’s heavy stuff, you don’t wanna keep that inside. All I ever wanna do is help you…”

Race tore himself away a moment to look Al in the face. His concern looked so honest and real that Race nearly started sobbing again. Al’s eyebrows were scrunched together in a grimace, but smiling through it, trying to reassure Race. After all, his brain was telling him that was his only job.

“You’re too good,” Race whispered. “So, so good.”

Albert smiled shyly, but shook his head again. He gently kissed Race’s cheek, pausing briefly before continuing lazily onto and down his neck. Race couldn’t help leaning into it.

“No one could ever be good enough for you,” Al mumbled over Race’s skin, glancing up for a moment. There was that cloudy, lovestruck look again.

“You’re absolutely  _ perfect _ , Antonio. I swear it.”

Race didn’t resist as Albert pulled him into his lap for a tighter embrace. There wasn’t any way Al’s arms could be more crushing than this guilt was coming to be.

And Race wished it wouldn’t be any worse than it was right then. But after so much time, he knew.

Of course it would be.

It always got worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WILD HUH


	4. Four

“How do you know he ain’t just a hookup?”

Al rolled his eyes at Mush’s question. They’d just finished their last class of the day, Albert having told him all about Race. Or, well, all that he could without mentioning the tiny part where he was born in 1885 and yet still here.

“It’s more than a feeling this time, okay?” Albert sighed, giving Mush a nudge. “I’m serious.”

“Yeah, but guess what you said last time? The same thing. And the time before that? Also the same thing,” Mush said, his knowing look causing Al to deflate slightly. “Look, I just want you to be careful this time, okay? I know you.”

“Fuck off, Meyers,” Albert said, no real heat behind it. “You knew with Blink, right?”

“And you know that Blink is god-tier to any loser you could ever pick up, Red,” Mush smirked, letting out a pained laugh when Al necked him at the nickname.

“Just watch, okay? I have a date with him tonight, like a real one—a dinner thing. That confirms that he ain’t just a hookup, right? I made it clear what I wanted, he made it clear what he wanted,” Al shrugged, then scoffed at himself. “That’s already one step ahead of past me.”

Mush shook his head with a sad smile. “You are just so,  _ so _ lovesick, about everyone, all the time. It’s really...sad,” he said, smile still present.

“I’m also so,  _ so _ angry with you, all the time,” Al grunted, “because you suck.”

“Ah, but you love me.” Mush patted Albert’s shoulder lightly, raising his eyebrows.

“....Yeah, asshole,” Al muttered. Mush laughed, hugging his arm around Albert until they had to part ways. 

“In all seriousness, man,” Mush said, stopping them at the corner. He placed both hands on Al’s shoulders, looking him in the eyes. “No more bruises, literal or metaphorical. Okay?”

“Okay, sheesh,” Al chuckled, then cleared his throat as Mush’s rather dark expression remained. “Seriously. No more, I swear.”

Mush’s face brightened instantly. “Great! Have fun tonight!” He waved as he started walking up the street.

“You’re really not gonna graduate med school with that fucked up bedside manner, doc,” Al called up to him. When Mush turned back around to flip him off, he took that as his cue to leave. He had to pick up Race in an hour anyway.

•••

“It’s good to know you own more than sweatshirts and flannels, DaSilva. I’m proud, really,” Race teased, leaning on his door frame after he’d opened the door for Al. 

Albert gaped at him a second, then scoffed with a slight smile. “I clean up nice for ya, and I get a damn joke. Okay, date cancelled, flannel will be reinstated shortly.”

“No!” Race whined, latching himself to Al’s arm. “No, you look really cute, I promise. Let’s go eat, c’mon.”

“ _ Thank _ you,” Al said pointedly, glancing over Race and managing to keep his heart from fluttering, still in awe at the mere sight of him. Whenever he looked at Race, it was like everything else simply faded into the background, stepping aside for Race’s perfection to be seen. “You look good too, by the way, in case you weren’t sure.”

Race whapped his arm as they walked out of the complex. “Oh, thanks,” he said, grinning. “Now, this is my favorite Italian restaurant in the city, and I’m big-time Italian. So get your mouth ready for some good food.”

“You have no idea how many jokes just went through my head, oh my god, it’s blinding,” Albert cringed.

“Oh come on, I gave you ‘italian’ and ‘mouth’ in the same sentence for a reason. Shoot,” Race encouraged, a mischievous look gracing his face.

“Don’t kill me,” Al prefaced.

“You of all people should know I  _ love _ dirty talk,” Race said, fluttering his eyelashes as Albert rolled his eyes, blushing.

“Okay, okay, here’s the first one I thought of: my mouth has already had my favorite Italian.”

Race smiled sarcastically. “Aww, I’m your favorite.”

“Then there’s also: my mouth is always ready for my favorite Italian.”

“Yeah, it really is,” Race smirked, pecking Albert on the lips.

Albert smiled gently, lacing his hand with Race’s the rest of the way to the restaurant, not missing the sentimental glance Race sent towards their hands.

Race’s excitement only seemed to grow as they finally stepped inside the place. Chatter was heard from every table, a low buzz of enjoyment coming from every inch of the room. It was smaller in size than Albert expected, finding himself smiling at how homey it was.

“This is...really nice,” Albert hummed as a waiter led them to a two-person table.

“Well, sure,” Race shrugged, sitting himself opposite Al with a lopsided smile on his face. “It’s nothin’ fancy, but I really like it.”

“It’s nice for that exact reason, Racer. It’s very you, like, you  _ would _ like this place.” Albert rolled his eyes fondly, glancing around the atmosphere. A hole in the wall italian place that seemed hipster but was definitely old as hell. In other words, Race.

The night wore on slowly, Albert thankful for every minute. Race seemed to be having a great time—at least, he was smiling a lot at dumb shit either Al or he said. His blue eyes would crinkle up when he laughed, Albert noticed, a grin splitting his lips every time, no matter how big or small the smile was. He’d shake his head slightly, too, and lean back in his chair with the most perfectly carefree expression Albert had ever seen. He could watch Race laugh for a lifetime, he decided against his better judgement.

“So, Albie,” Race said, leaning forward again and placing his chin on his hand, “lemme know more about you besides the fact that you’re funny as  _ fuck _ , oh my god.”

“I’m moderately amusing, yeah,” Al shrugged, half-smiling when Race gave him a scoff, then gesturing for Al to continue.

“Well you already know I’m a physics major, and I like building stuff—oh, I build sets for shows my school does. That’s kinda cool.”

“That’s  _ super _ cool, correction,” Race gasped, eyes bugging slightly. “Build or design, too?”

“I help design sometimes, yeah. Guy named Jack Kelly usually is the main designer. He’s really got an eye for connecting design to whatever the show’s content is. I jus’ like building the shit mostly.” Al smiled at the thought of how late Jack was probably keeping himself up that night—they were just starting on a straight play and Albert’s phone had already buzzed with more than a few texts from him, probably all with vague ideas in caps lock.

“Jeez, that must be so amazing. I love shows, holy shit, like I’m such a bootleg bitch,” Race giggled, Albert laughing at the term Race had used for himself.

“‘Bootleg bitch’,” Al sighed. “You would be. Thing is, I’m not super into shows themselves..? Haven’t found one that I really felt yet.”

“What?” Race leaned back again, face screwed up in a baffled expression. “God, every show I watch hits me in the like, first ten minutes.”

“I only know the ones I’ve done, so maybe that’s why. But I have done them since high school, so,” Al shrugged, apologetic. “Dunno, hun.”

“Then I’ll get you into one!” Race’s expression seemed to brighten at the thought, Albert blushing at how adorable he looked. “I mean. Well, I’ll just have to find one for you.”

“Guess you will, bootleg bitch,” Al snorted as Race tried to hit him from across their small table.

“Oh, shut up! I’ve lived in New York longer than literally anyone on the planet, I can’t  _ not _ be into shows,” Race huffed.

“You should see mine when it’s up, then,” Albert said.

Race seemed to stiffen, and Al mentally slapped himself. That was so forward, at least two months into the future. He didn’t even know if this relationship would last more than a week, let alone two entire months. It didn’t seem like a long time, but it was for Al.

Albert tore his gaze away from the table to meet Race’s eyes again. A sad, but knowing smile was on his face.

“I would really love to, Albie,” he said softly.

“Really?” Albert asked, not truly believing Race. He probably just felt bad for him.

“Really. I would really, really like to,” Race nodded, reaching his hand over the table to hold Al’s.

Albert smiled at their hands together, tan and pale intermingling into one mixed shape. Maybe there was hope for him yet in the relationship department.

•••

Going back to Race’s was an entire other reward, consisting of more talking with bits of making out swirled in between, Race’s lips still able to make his brain short-circuit every time they kissed.

Race had just pushed Albert down onto the couch, Al’s hands gripping at Race’s hips as the blond’s hand travelled up under Al’s shirt. Albert let out a low hum, pulling Race closer to himself as he captured his lips in another kiss. After a while, Race slowed himself down a bit, moving his lips to lazily kiss at Albert’s neck and lowering himself on top of him.

“That date was really nice, Tonio,” Albert murmured, arching himself slightly up towards Race’s mouth. “Real cute, real...real.”

“What’s that mean?” Race popped his head up,  Al having to raise his eyes to meet his gaze. He didn’t really want to though, biting his lip slightly in hesitation as he realized what he had said.

“I...um,” Al huffed out a slight laugh, attempting to lighten the suddenly dense air. “It’s not like I haven’t been out to dinner with a partner before or anything. ‘Cause I have. Just...not like that.”

“Al, like what?” Race pressed, tired smile slipping off his face.

Albert shrugged, pushing himself up straighter. “I dunno. Been a while since I left a date like that feeling good, y’know? I don’t normally get lucky in this department—the, uh, relationship kind.” Heart beating faster, he averted his gaze further as Race’s eyes only saddened. 

He hadn’t really told anyone this before, just Mush.

Relationships had always been a taboo topic for Albert, family ties included. His mother had died in his youth, a hit-and-run, and Al’s dad had lost himself in the grief too far, eventually turning to taking it out in his children. All three got out of the house eventually, the youngest living with the oldest when Al went to college.    
And even during his wreckage of his family, romantic relations weren’t much better. Girlfriends would call him too guarded, not emotionally present and yell at him; boyfriends would call him weak, say he needed to be stronger, push him around and mock him. He couldn’t win. He had never won.

“And then...shit, this is gonna sound cheesy, yikes, but then I met you,” Albert laughed quietly after cherry-picking a few pieces of his history to share. “You actually respect me for me, y’know? That’s a pretty new concept for me.”

Race’s hands ghosted over his mouth to mask his shock. “Albert,” he breathed with watery voice and eyes, “I had no idea. I’m so sorry, you don’t know the half of it, oh my god…”

“Race, it’s okay, really,” Al smiled, reaching out to brush his thumb over his cheek. “It ain’t your fault.”

Race seemed to come back to himself. “Yeah. Yeah, you just really don’t deserve this—that. I’m sorry you had to go through that, love,” he said, folding Albert into a hug. “I...I’m here now. Catch your break, hun.”

“Thanks,” Albert sighed, pushing his head into the crook of Race’s neck and pressing a kiss there. He chuckled lightly. “You’re doing real wonders for me, y’know.”

Albert thought he felt Race’s grip stiffen around him before one of his hands started rubbing methodically up and down his back, up and down, up and down, up and down…

“I think I’m slippin’ into a food coma from all that Italian and feelings,” Albert yawned, snuggling further into Race, resting his arms over his shoulders, and hearing him laugh softly.

“Okay baby, let’s go sleep. It’s late anyway, and that was a lotta pasta,” Race admitted, yawning as well. His hand kept rhythmically moving up and down Albert’s back, making his eyelids even harder to keep open, dimly feeling his grip on Race slacken.

“What’re y’doin’ to me, baby?” Al murmured as Race stood them up, hand not leaving the redhead’s back. “Y’got...magic hands?”

Race laughed again, this time with a slight nervous lilt that Albert would have caught if his head wasn’t suddenly so blurry.

“Yeah, that ain’t the first time you’ve said that to me, sweetie,” Race whispered in Al’s ear with a giggle, Albert blushing. He leaned up to kiss Race, wobbly knees be damned. Warmth like hot tea spread through his body as Race reciprocated his affections, lips moving against lips.

After a few hazy moments, Albert pulled away, still practically hanging off of his boyfriend. “Think I’m really in love w’ you, Racey,” he mumbled, eyes still closed. “You’re absolutely perfect.”

“You’re tired,” Race stated, like he was deciding the fact, although Albert could picture his small smile anyway. A new layer of exhaustion laid itself over him like a heavy blanket, making him yawn even more obnoxiously.

“Yeahhh,” Albert sighed, leaning heavier into Race’s arms as they fell onto his bed. “I am.”

Albert felt Race curl around him after the covers were pulled up, arms wrapping around his stomach, continuing to rub in comforting circles. Al hummed his approval, cuddling sleepily into the embrace more than he’d admit.

“Goodnight, love,” Race whispered, almost hesitant, but Al could hear the truth behind it. He felt Race kiss the back of his neck gently.

“G’nigh’, Race,” Al sighed lightly, eyes closing again as his brain quickly drifted off. In his dreams, he relived the only perfect date he’d ever had. Wait till he told Mush—no bruises.

•••

Race felt a little bad for sending Albert into sleep like that. Technically against his will, too, although it was late and pretty appropriate. 

But he needed to think. 

He had never wanted to stall before Al happened. It was strange, actively wanting to stay with someone. He was pretty sure he loved Albert back, too, and it was terrifying after decades of not feeling that way about anyone.

It wasn’t only terrifying, he supposed. It was definitely freeing, which was new, and he couldn’t help but absolutely love it. After believing to love was to be trapped, for what felt like forever, it was exciting and invigorating to spring out of the box he felt he’d been kept in for so long. It was wonderful, it was fun,  _ Albert _ was wonderful,  _ Albert _ was fun, and...Race didn’t want it to end.

And that was not allowed.

Race pressed himself closer to Albert, as if that could protect him from the chain of events that had started the moment they had made eye contact. Maybe Race  _ could _ stall, at least a few more weeks. Albert deserved the love Race was more than willing to give him, especially after the kinds of relationships Al had said he’d been in before this one. Race wanted to be more than that for him, rather than become another piece of Albert’s broken past. He wanted Albert more than anyone who had come before him, and Al seemed to want him back. Even if Race knew much of Albert’s feelings were orchestrated, there were lots of parts that were real: his humor, his thoughtfulness, his protectiveness were all there. And at least part of his love just  _ had _ to be real. Race was powerful in that area, sure, that was his whole thing, but there were some things he couldn’t fake.

And, he decided, those things were worth stalling for.

Albert did probably love him. And he loved Albert, whether he really could or not. He’d stall until Hell bit at his heels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next part will be posted tomorrow ;)


	5. Finale

“I think it’s ready.”

Race tilted his head to face Albie as his boyfriend said this, hands placed neatly over his stomach as he laid on the bed. Race’s quiet demeanor was misleading, as usual—a storm was roaring inside, a hurricane spinning and making his chest tighten in apprehension.

“What’s ready, Al?” Race asked, knowing the answer.

Albert turned his head to the side as well, gazing at Race with a new light in his eyes. His smile was so wide and endearing that it nearly broke Race’s heart.

“The apartment, stupid,” Al scoffed. “We fixed it up, cleaned it, I got all the papers ready, my stuff’s all ready…” Al grinned. “I’m ready to move into it.”

And then Race’s heart did break.

Al looked so, so happy. Race knew that for Albert, getting his own place was a bigger milestone than it already would be for the average person. It meant something more than just a second floor apartment—it was a freedom Al had longed for since he was just a kid. A freedom that would rip whatever freedom Albert currently had away from him.

“You sure, baby?” Race whispered, trying not to let his voice break. “Everything’s done? There’s nothing left to prepare, nothing left to pack up?”

“Nope!” Al shook his head, eyes glinting as he leaned over to Race. “It’s done. Everything’s done. It’s gonna be mine, Antonio. All mine. Just like you.”

He pressed his lips hard onto Race’s, Race eagerly tangling his fingers into Albert’s red hair. Al’s hand was warm against his cheek, his thumb rubbing softly against him despite the intensity of the kiss. Race lost himself in Albert more than usual, hyper-focused on every detail—every freckle, every hair out of place, the feel of his hands on him, the taste of his lips and tongue, every small sound he made. Ironic how Al called him perfect, since the opposite was true.

After a while, Race was tracing his fingers over Albert’s stomach as the man rambled about how he wanted to set up the place, Race nodding every so often.

How Race’s heart shattered for him, this most undeserving man who had been nothing but endlessly interesting and funny and warm to him. Yes, Albert’s infatuation was mostly false, but Race could feel the deep friendly affection Albert harbored for him as well, one Race harbored right back. Only once before had Race let himself do that—in 1905, a boy named Sean Conlon walked into that same apartment door with a skeptical glance and narrowed eyes, and to Race’s dismay, they were friendly as well as intimate. It had broke him then, and it was breaking him now.

Through the rest of the week, it would continue to break him. Race helped Albert move into the place, not allowed to let Al get any suspicions as to why Race might have seemed gloomy. Moving in was tragically fun, the two of them laughing as they dropped boxes, picking up their contents and talking about nothing and everything. Race was surprised at his ability to keep the lump in his throat down enough to even talk to Al. Lucky for him, too—Albert was rather smart at figuring when something was wrong with Race.

“I think that's everything,” Albert huffed, smiling and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I can't believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Race laughed, shaking his head. “Fast, huh?”

“Yeah, thank God. I thought that was gonna take so much longer. I'd assumed the worst,” Al shrugged. Then he grinned, doing a small spin with his arms out in the center of the room. “But this is so great! It's all mine, and I'm responsible for it, and I make the rules—well, technically not, but still…”

Albert’s rambling faded away slightly as Race felt something in his chest. A sort of lurch inside of him, like something was trying to get out.

His heart stopped. That was so soon. Surely he had a little more time? An hour at least? He still had to tell him everything.

His change in demeanor must have been noticeable. Al was practically scanning him, analyzing anything that could be wrong.

“Babe, you oka—”

“I lied to you,” Race interrupted.

 

Albert went silent for a long while, the air frozen with tension. His head was cocked slightly, that skeptical frown of his making Race’s heart skip a beat, the frown that meant Al wasn't just some pawn in Race’s wretched game.

“About what?” Albert asked slowly, eyes narrowed. A pang of guilt jabbed Race through the ribs as he remembered Al’s shitty past with relationships. This would be one for the books, Race supposed.

“About me. About who I—well, not about who I am. I lied about what I'm here for,” Race confessed.

“About why your mom left you here,” Al concluded quickly, making Race wince. “What you're saying is that you ain't here to protect the people who buy this apartment, like you’d said to me, right?”

Race couldn't help but be slightly impressed, for a couple of reasons. First, Al was really quite the detective despite everything, which led to the second reason—Albert’s expression remained rather neutral, his actual anger probably fighting with his on-the-surface infatuation with Race. Al was doing a good job at not letting either side win.

“No, I'm not here for that,” Race sighed. He had to get this over with. Maybe it'd hurt less that way. “When my family first moved to New York, my mom was at a loss as to where to go. Not many people just welcomed immigrants like that, y’know? And then we found this apartment. The landlord charmed my ma’s pants off—he was the first nice person to us in the city. But then he changed.

“He stopped caring about us. He didn't get anyone to fix anything when things were broken, no one cleaned anything. He took advantage of the people in this building, knowing no one could go anywhere else. He just took our money and kept the place in shambles. And so I died from the conditions—that part’s still true.

“As I was dying—stay with me here, Albie, we don't have much time—my mother cursed me with haunting this apartment, and….making anyone who walks into the door with intentions to buy...instantly fall in love with me. She got charmed and then got screwed over, and now I charm people and they—yeah. It keeps me alive—the more people, the longer I get to live.”

Race hugged himself, willing the feeling in his chest to wait. Albert looked paralyzed, with fear or confusion or anger Race couldn't tell.

“So...so none of this was real? I-I don't...I don't love you right now?” Al questioned, eyebrows knit together.

“It's real to an extent,” Race explained, his heart cracking as Albert’s face dropped further. “I just...I gave you the initial infatuation, and then amplified the feelings you caught for me.”

“The feelings I _caught_?” Al scoffed. “Like you don't have them.” Then Albert froze. “You don't have ‘em, do you. You never did. That was just my stupid head telling me that you did, wasn't it.”

Race shook his head wildly. “No! No, Al, I promise you I do. I fell for you, I didn't mean to, but I—”

“‘Didn't _mean_ to’?” Albert nearly seethed. If he was this worked up, time must really be up soon, Race noted sadly.

“It hurts less that way,” Race decided to admit. “I've been doing this for almost centuries now. My ma wants revenge for eternity and I'm the pawn she needs to play it out.”

“This is fucked up,” Al said, tone decisive and expression stiff. “ _You're_ fucked up. Get the fuck out of my apartment, _right now_ , you lying sonofa—”

“I’m afraid I can't do that,” Race said, the words coming out of him rather than him actually saying them. He was starting to feel a little distant, but he had to hold on. Just a little longer.

Albert’s eyes narrowed. “You're not physically attached to this place. Your words, not mine. Get _out_.”

“Can't leave this time,” Race shook his head solemnly.

Race practically watched Albert’s blood run cold before he rolled his eyes at Race. “Then fuck you. I'll leave,” Albert bit out. Approaching the door, he muttered, “why are my boyfriends always from _hell_ , fucking Christ.”

Race didn't say anything on the matter—couldn't, rather, as Al tried to open the door. He jiggled the knob a few times, then looked at Race.

“I didn't lock this,” Al stated. His eyes were wide. “Did you?”

“Not exactly,” Race murmured, looking at his feet. “I can't leave, which means you don’t get to leave.”

“Race?” Albert breathed, back flush against the door as fear flashed in his eyes, “what the _fuck_. What are you saying, what...what _are_ you?”

“I’m running out of time,” Race said instead. “I just...I need you to know that I've loved you. I'm _in_ love with you, I swear on my mother’s soul I am. And I'm sorry you gotta pay for it. I'm so, so sorry…” He felt tears fall down his cheeks.

“Race, for what?” Albert demanded. “What's- what’s going to happen?”

“I'm not part of what comes next, okay? I don't want this, I don't...want this…please…”

The tugging was too strong. He'd pushed it off for too long; he was out of time. Race felt his mind slip away from him, and then he was gone, torn away from Albert and leaving him to go through what was next alone.

•••

As much as Albert knew what the fuck had just happened, he also didn't at all.

The clearest thing in his mind was that everything from the last two months had been falsified by whatever voodoo bullshit Race had put in him. Al nearly shivered just thinking about it—who knew what actions were truly his and what had been completely controlled by Race. He literally hadn't been himself for two fucking months.

On top of that, Race was one of the few people on the planet who knew his fucked up relationship history. Being so severely lied to was a slap in his face, a reminder that he couldn't ever trust anyone with his feelings again. Race had made him forget that—forced him to, rather. Albert tried to think of a thought he’d had that didn’t include Race somewhere in it, and he honestly _couldn’t_. Race was always on his mind, swirling through his head like he was nicotine or something. Albert had definitely been addicted, that was for sure.

There was also this impending sense that something was coming. Al couldn't escape from whatever it could be anyway, the door mysteriously “locked,” and Race was suddenly tethered to the room like never before, which was more than odd—it was honestly terrifying. Something was happening today that had been triggered by Al buying the apartment, and...apparently otherworldly consequences came with it. And it seemed like those consequences were unfairly stabbing him right in the back, all thanks to Race.

But Race had...cried. He seemed apologetic, almost mournful, and at least shameful. A small piece of Al wanted to comfort him, run his hands through his hair and tell him everything would be okay...they were just fine…

But no. Race had said it wasn’t real. Race didn’t fucking care—it was just the veil of pink-tinted infatuation that had been thrown upon Al from the start that was making him think Race had ever gave a shit. Nothing had mattered. Al had been used, yet again. The thought made his blood boil.

He wanted to scream, or throw something, or hit something, anything to get the fire that now raged in his stomach out of him. He was hurt, upset, betrayed. God, was he fucking _angry_.

All of a sudden, the piece of Al that wanted to comfort Race seemed to float away from his heart. It was soft and warm, but at the same time, it didn't feel like it had ever truly belonged. _Good_ , he thought.

Fuck this. _Fuck_ Race. Fuck whatever impending bullshit was coming to him.

He drew himself out of his thoughts at last, glaring daggers at Race. “ _Fuck_ you!” Albert yelled. “You're a lying piece of shit! I wish I _never_ loved you, you—” Albert paused, his eyebrows scrunched together as he really looked at Race.

Red fire so bright it blazed white danced in Race’s eyes, his pupils reptilian-like and his ocean blue irises turned blood red. His skin was paler, his teeth sharper as he grinned at Albert with malevolence. That wasn't Race, not exactly. That was a literal fucking _demon_.

“You're the piece of shit that made Race into a piece of shit,” Albert growled. “Fuck you especially, asshole.”

“That'd be me, yes,” the demon nodded. “I’m Antonio’s curse.”

“And what do you do, exactly?” Albert asked, pointedly looking the creature up and down despite the fear shooting through his veins. “What am I here for?”

“Great question. Shame that Antonio didn't get to answer it for you, he would probably explain it nicer. You see, he was cursed with immortality at the expense of human lives, and _you._...” The demon smiled slowly, revealing its fangs once again in almost evil excitement, “...are cursed with being one of those human lives.”

The demon’s laughter faded into the background as Albert felt his heart drop to the floor and his eyes widen in shock.

Not only had Race cursed Al to fall for him, but cursed him knowing it’d..it’d be at the expense of Albert’s _life_.

  
His head slowed down as his heart rate sped up, his vision blurring.

  
He was going...was he...?

Albert DaSilva was going to...to _die_. Because of this fucked up family, because of that fucking witch Race called a mother hellbent on revenge, because Race lied to him for two months. He was paying the ultimate price just for walking into a room.

Hot anger sizzled in his stomach again. He’d missed that feeling, he realized. Two months without it had felt wrong. Lovesick bullshit was officially over. If he was dying, Al thought bitterly, it’d be kicking and screaming.

“This is the worst break up ever, demon,” Albert spat before impulsively throwing a punch as usual.

It was short-lived, the demon catching it with lightning speed. Knives of pain sliced through Albert’s arm as the demon twisted it, Al sinking to his knees.

“You're unbe _liev_ ably like Sean,” the demon tutted, grabbing the front of Al’s shirt and lifting him into the air as Albert kicked uselessly with his legs. “Infatuation got the better of him, though. He didn't fight as hard as you.”

“Who's Sean?” Al demanded, failing to rip himself out of the demon’s hold.

“Race’s first victim. He was special, just like you. Race really liked you two.”

“Then why the fuck did he do this to us?!” Albert glared.

“He was running out of time,” the demon explained boredly, like he'd done it a thousand times. “A victim only buys him a certain amount of life. He had two weeks left until his mother dragged him down to hell for ‘failing’ her, but then you walked in. So now he has two more years until he has to do this again.”

Albert faltered a moment at that. Could that mean that Race really _didn't_ want to hurt him? He shook his head to rid himself of the rose-tinted thought. No. This curse was just messing with his head still. Al was just some useless part in this game; that's all he ever had been to Race.

“That doesn't change anything, asshole, I'm still innocent,” Albert growled, once again kicking at the demon.

The demon barked out a laugh. “I don't _care_ , you stupid shit. I've done this a thousand times. You're just another life.”

Albert slammed to the ground after he was tossed across the room. He shook himself off before standing back up.

And then the ground disappeared from under him.

Albert let out a yelp of shock as he fell through, arms and chin crashing against the remaining floor and pulling himself upward as much as he could. His legs kicked into empty air beneath him.

There was a perfect circle around where he had once stood, like it had been carved from the wood floor. Even though the apartment was two stories up, there was nothing beneath his dangling feet. Slightly confused, Albert tried hoisting himself out of the hole, but something dragged him backward. When Al looked down to see what had touched him, his mouth dropped open in horror.

Beneath him was what he could only describe as the River Styx from the Hercules Disney movie. But this was no cartoon. A sea of groaning, ghoulish spirits swirled right under his feet, their hands reaching for him, clawing mindlessly at him, life extinguished from their dull eyes. Al squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to gag as their cold hands swiped over his ankles, trying desperately to pull himself up a little further, anything to get away from..from _that_. A hand wrapped around his ankle despite his effort, tugging harder as Al struggled to stay above the pit of literal hell beneath him.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Al breathed, heart racing. “Who are they, what are they gonna—are they-?”

“Yeah,” the demon shrugged. “Gonna drag ya down with ‘em. See, they’re just like you—poor souls simply tricked into dying. Don’t worry though, this is only part of their afterlife.” Then he laughed. “They do say some places just....suck the life right outta people, no?”

Albert’s scrambling grew more frantic at that, hands clawing furiously to pull himself out. He couldn’t go out like this. He was too angry for that, for the hopelessness that was starting to overtake him.

After at least an hour, it became disturbingly apparent that nothing was working. He couldn't seem to pull himself out, however easy it sounded; however easy it should have been. He’d try to swing his leg over, but some brainless spirit would grab it with a hiss and pull it back downward. He couldn’t kick off of anything to launch him further. Every time he inched forward, something pulled him back, down closer to whatever awaited him. He didn't know how much longer he had to do it for—or how much longer he _could_ do it for.

“Fuck you,” Albert growled. “I’m sorry about your mom being awful, really, but this is fucked up! I didn’t do anything, just—“ He took a short breath in, his head feeling lighter than normal. This was taking a lot out of him, he realized with a jolt. He was running out of time.

“ _Please_ ,” Al begged suddenly, gazing up with wide fearful eyes at the demon. “You don’t have to do this. I didn’t do anything, please, oh my god, please just let me _go_ .” Al weakly battled with the ledge again, and when that failed, he allowed himself to be pulled down a little closer than before. He had been at it for hours now, and it was just...so _draining_ . His arms were burning, heavy, and clearly useless. They needed a rest. _He_ needed a rest. He wanted to stop so badly, just a short little break…

No. NO. Al tried to focus his thoughts. He couldn't stop. He just couldn't—he had things to live for, he had a show in a week. He attempted to push himself harder, strain himself just a bit longer.

“You can’t do this,” Al argued, vaguely aware of how small his voice sounded. “Please, I’m begging you, _please_...just...let me...”

 _Just let me stop,_ Al thought. All he wanted to do was stop, just rest a _moment_ , that was it. His arms wobbled as he once again tried to drag himself forward. Nothing. _Useless_. He was all tired out, his ability to fight slowly flickering away. He was so, so _tired_. Tired of fighting, tired of thinking, tired of...being awake. He was blinking slower and slower, he vaguely realized. He just felt exhausted, heavy, and dizzy, and distant...and lightheaded...and so, _so_ tired...

He lifted his head slightly, unfocused eyes landing on what looked like his Race. “I did love you, y’know,” he managed to mumble, before his head lolled back down.

Albert let out a small groan as his eyes fluttered closed involuntarily. _Maybe just a little rest_ , he thought, ... _just a second without a fight...no more...._ The mere thought of it taunted him, its possibility tantalizingly close.

Distantly, he felt himself being tugged down, cold arms and hands grabbing at his legs and torso, but he couldn’t resist their pull anymore. It was almost inviting, his body finally getting the rest it deserved. He wanted to fight, wanted to kick and scream and curse, but his exhaustion was overwhelming, the desire to sleep taking over his thoughts. Albert almost thought he could hear something whisper to him, coaxing him to simply let himself fall asleep, _just **sleep** , Albert. Don't fight. Don't fight it_. _Sleep._ The vague thought of giving into the calm felt so good, so easy, so final in his foggy brain.

  
And then, Albert did. He slipped.

  
His grip slackened, deep sleep conquering him as the mindless spirits gleefully dragged him down to them, the Higgins family claiming their latest victim at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .....okay fine there’s an epilogue coming  
> currently it is not written. when it is, it’ll first be posted on my tumblr, and then onto here :)

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading gents, it only gets crazier


End file.
